The cedar choppers

On the first day of my Wildland Firefighter certification class, my instructor, a good 'ol boy from the piney woods of East Texas, stated very matter-of-factly in his thick Texas drawl, "Ever'time a cedar dies...an angel gits its wangs." The class let out a chuckle, none as loud as me. It's no secret that cedar (ashe juniper) is no friend to the firefighter. Drought stricken stands of Hill Country cedar are akin to crumpled up pieces of aged, dry newspaper whose leaves, once lit, are like little flaming puffy clouds that drift effortlessly in the sky on the slightest of breezes. They ride the air current to another cedar, hundreds, if not thousands, of feet away, light up and repeat the process.
Firefighters aren't the only ones not enamored with this tough little tree. Ranchers hate them. They continuously sprout up in their fields where their livestock graze overtaking the native grasses they feed on. Cattle won't feed on cedar. Nor will whitetail deer for that matter, unless starving. Goats may be about the only critter that will savor the leaves with gusto.
Then you have all the folks that claim cedar is depleting the aquifer of precious water, an argument that is debatable. And let's not forget the allergy suffers who are tormented every year by the cedar pollen that wafts in the air as a fine yellow mist seemingly clinging to everyone and everything.
So with all the unfavorable views facing cedar it's difficult to believe that at one time there was a group of hardy folks that truly loved it. It was their livelihood, their 'bread and butter' if you will. They are a small, almost forgettable, chapter in Central Texas history. They are the cedar choppers.
Cedar choppers, as the term simply suggests, chopped cedar for a living. These were sturdy folks that had grown up learning how to make a living from the land. It was no surprise they discovered a way to take advantage of a quickly renewable resource that proliferated all over the Texas Hill Country in the late 1800's.
First to arrive were the 'charcoal burners'. These folks figured out a way to manipulate cedar into charcoal. The charcoal was in great demand back in the day as it was used to heat stoves and flatirons. "The charcoal burners chopped green cedars, stripped the bark away and stacked the poles pyramid style in a pit or kiln. They left a hole in the top, tepee style, for the smoke to escape and then covered the wood with dirt. A fire was lit at the bottom of the kiln and then closed as the cedar smoldered for three or four days, until it was charred to perfection. The charcoal was then loaded onto wagons and sold in towns. It was slow, tedious work and the market was variable, but if the cotton or corn crops failed, charcoal was always money in the pocket"
The charcoal burners eventually became full time cedar choppers as the demand for charcoal waned. The advent of the Model T truck allowed people to harvest and haul their own cedar for making charcoal without relying on the charcoal burners. As well as the fact that folks slowly discontinued using charcoal to heat their stoves and flatirons. But more importantly, the invention and proliferation of barbed wire on the prairies arrived on the scene and the demand for cedar posts on which to attach this innovative fencing material increased most rapidly. Barbed wire in quantity was first made available in Texas in the 1880's. Thus helping facilitate the rapid enclosure of the vast open prairie land.(barbed wire has a fascinating history, believe it or not, and revolutionized a whole way of life-perhaps a future blog entry) So the use of fence posts on the plains and the demand to clear cedar from large ranches greatly expanded the market for folks chopping cedar.
Cedar fencing was certainly used prior to the introduction of barbed wire just not as efficiently. One early traveler noted, "From Bastrop to Austin the common mode of making fences(in 1855) was by planting cedar posts in a trench about eight inches deep, sinking in a picket deeper than the others at regular distances and binding the whole together at the top by nailing a strong piece of cedar on the tops of the pickets. The fence was not handsome, but it was quite durable." I may disagree with it not being 'handsome' but certainly know it to be durable , as the traveler noted. The construction method he is describing can be found at Rockmoor's barn area. I've been told that the Rockmoor barn was constructed in the late 1800's (anyone know differently?) so it is truly amazing to see that fence, for the most part, is still standing upright after 120 years or so.
However, barbed wire was faster and easier to erect without nearly as much effort. Thus the old cedar railing fences became a thing of the past. So naturally, the charcoal burners turned their endeavors to solely chopping and harvesting cedar for a living as there were endless miles of fenceline in Texas at the turn of the century.
Now, if you've ever had the opportunity to swing an axe and chop wood the 'old fashioned way' then you know how exhausting it can be. There were no gas operated chainsaws at this time, remember. Chopping wood with an axe is extremely physical work that requires a sound, sturdy stature. Imagine chopping cedar all day, every day. The cedar choppers got a reputation as tough folks; loners who lived deep in the woods with their families only coming to town to sell the fruits of their labors. One writer described as this, "The chopper who cuts and lives in the cedar is as true a mountaineer as his forefathers, who perhaps hailed from the Ozarks or the Blue Ridge Mountains in pioneer days. He has not been noticeably touched by what is known as present day civilization. He is a hardy specimen. His days in the open have hardened his muscles and given a healthy glow to his usually unshaven face...He reads very little...He lives in a small world, confined to the particular brakes where he cuts cedar, and including the families of the other choppers."
Ironically enough, the term 'cedar chopper' is sometimes used as a slur, akin to calling someone a 'redneck, hick or a hillbilly'. (apologies to all you rednecks out there Ha!) One historian explained the animosity towards the cedar chopper as a form of jealousy. That people envied the cedar choppers 'freedom from convention' and they were apt to call him lazy as he made his own hours, worked when he pleased and answered to no one. (and obviously anyone calling a cedar chopper lazy has never swung an axe) A cedar chopper was an independent contractor of sorts; paid for his product not his labor. So if a cedar chopper was inclined to work only half a day, well, he could.

There's a wonderful story written by Texas folklorist/naturalist Roy Bedichek, a contemporary and friend of J Frank Dobie, who writes about an encounter with an aging cedar chopper on one of his many solo camping trips in the Hill Country. Bedichek describes his physical stature in remarkable detail. "...the veins were as big as lead pencils or whipcords, and in the swinging of the arms these hard, huge, purplish blood vessels stretched and slipped under the skin...I noticed his hands, immense, bony and enormously veined over the backs and interiorly curved to fit an ax handle. The fingers looked as though they could never be straightened at all, and were hard enough to crack a seed tick...He told me that he couldn't do anything but cut cedar since that was all he had ever done except farm a little. I found that he was 86 years old and that here in this locality his father had put him to cutting cedar when he was only ten."
He went on to explain to Bedichek that a neighbor of his, 88 years old, had finally stopped cutting cedar and retired. Then the man promptly died. So the old cedar chopper confessed to Bedichek that it was 'better to do something".

As I hike around Rockmoor I notice the cuts to our cedar. Most are made by a chainsaw, a clean, straight cut, some very recent, some much older. But every so often, as I venture deep into the brakes of cedar I'll come upon an old, time worn tree and notice the cuts as jagged, axe hewn chops made by a human powered tool. I'll often wonder if it was made by a youthful Uncle Dee harvesting up posts for a load to mend a fence. Or perhaps older than that, maybe by his father, my great-great grandfather, Samuel to sell in town. Either way, it's very satisfying to notice such subtle clues scattered about this piece of land that hint to the grand history of days long gone.
As the days get cooler and shorter and I venture outside with my chainsaw to 'slay' the tree that encroaches a little bit more with each passing year, I can't help but be reminded of my ancestors and their relationship with this native Texas tree. I cut the cedar down because I see it as threat to my home and property, perfect fuel for the flames of a wildfire. While the industrious folks that lived on this land before me cut the cedar for profit and practical construction. But we both know the smell of the cedar, the sticky sap of a young cedar on your skin as you handle it, the sharp prickles at the ends of the leaves that force one to wear gloves and the sweet aroma of the smoke when you burn it. That'll never change.

So my conflicted, love/hate relationship with the cedar endures. But my respect for this tree continues as does my admiration for the simple, practical, hardworking pioneers of the Central Texas cedar brakes who carved out a living working the land.


'Till next time.

Sally Anne





* "The Cedar Chopper" by Walter J Cartwright, an essay that appeared in the Southwestern Historical Quarterly, Volume 70, July 1966 was used as a reference. As well, 'Adventures With A Texas Naturalist" (1947) by Roy Bedichek is one of may all time favorite works about Texas natural history and his story "Cedar Cutter" is worth checking out.